The Ringer
by SunKing
Summary: He says he's just here to play, but what's his game? Bella thinks she's got his number, but she has no idea. A story about Irish sports, Irish accents, and the Irish mafia, all set in America.
1. I'm a Rambler, I'm a Gambler

I'm a Rambler, I'm a Gambler

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><p>Please forgive me for the single chapter. If you've followed me a while, you know I only post T-rated stories and under the SunKing name. I'm writing a new one with TiffanyAnne3 about Irish sports, Irish accents, and the Irish mafia and it's rated M. It's a little bit rom-com and a little bit...Snatch. You can find the whole story (well, what we've published so far) under the profile MollyRamone. We try to post two or three chapters per day, so they're short, snappy, and fun.<p>

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><p>"<em>I'm a long way from home," <em>Edward sang, swinging his beer back and forth with everyone else in the bar. If his mates in Ardmore heard him slurring along with some American cover band in an "Irish" pub—called so because of the O'Something name over the door and the shamrockery lining the walls—they'd never have let him live it down.

The crowd let out a roar as the lead singer belted out a final note, and then the stage went blissfully silent. A fifteen-minute break wasn't long enough, as far as Edward was concerned. The weekend had only begun, but he had a feeling he was in for hours on end of "Irish" bands butchering the songs of his people.

"They don't even know what they're singin' about." He plopped his mug back on the bar and started to kick his stool away for a stumble to the bathroom.

"Were you talking to me?"

He almost didn't answer, but just as he was about to walk away, he caught sight of the girl who'd spoken.

Well, then. Long, glossy dark hair in curls down her back. Big, brown eyes wide and waiting. Shit. Did she have to be so pretty?

"Ah, no. Just addressin' the universe in general."

The girl looked into her beer and smiled. "Oh. Okay."

Dismissed.

Except those big, brown eyes cut over to watch him. Maybe he wasn't dismissed at all. The only problem was, he really needed to take a piss, and if he hung around long enough to find out if she wanted him to stay or go, he'd likely embarrass himself.

"Save my seat?"

She shrugged and nodded. "If no one better looking comes along, sure."

Edward drew himself up to his full height, jaw unhinged. "Think you're likely to find someone better lookin' than me?"

The girl turned and gave him the once-over, color seeping high into her cheeks. Her words burned hotter than her blush. "We're in one of the biggest cities in the world. Statistically speaking, there are probably millions of men in the metro area that are better looking. At least thousands. Now, whether or not they're looking for a stool in this particular bar is another story. You're probably safe, but don't stay gone too long."


	2. Look for a Cure for Her Head

**SORRY FOR THE ALL CAPS, BUT I WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU SEE THIS!** I may have confused you with the first chapter of this. TiffanyAnne3 and I are posting the whole story under the name MollyRamone. It's rated M, so I won't post all of it here. This will be the last chapter here, so you'll have to go to our MollyRamone profile to read the rest. So sorry if I confused you. We hope you'll come join us on the MollyRamone profile, where there are TWENTY-THREE CHAPTERS POSTED! Thanks so much for your faves and notifications so far.

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><p>Look for a Cure for Her Head<p>

From the corner of her eye, Bella Swan watched the tall, lanky Irishman slink off toward the men's room. Jesus, but he was beautiful. She'd noticed him sitting alone at the bar and had been stealing glances from her peripheral vision all evening. Red-brown hair, a strong, slightly scruffy jaw, and as she found when he addressed her, the brightest green eyes she'd ever seen. As if all of that weren't enough to make her fidgety and flushed, when he spoke, she fell directly into lust. That voice. Deep yet velvety. That accent. It was strong and absolute music to her ears.

Bella loved all things Irish to the point of a small obsession. Some might have called it an odd fixation; she was neither of Irish descent, nor was she very close with anyone who was. She'd never even been to Ireland. There was just something about the green, green rolling hills and ancient castles she'd seen in pictures. The culture. The lore. The music. The whiskey. A corner of her mouth twitched up in a half smile as she stared into her glass of Tullamore Dew.

"No lad better-lookin', then?"

As Bella looked up into the green eyes she'd just been thinking of, her half smile morphed into a full-on smirk.

"What're ye grinnin' at like a cat with a cream-flavored arsehole?"

"Pardon?" was her first reaction, but it was followed by an embarrassingly loud burst of laughter when her brain processed the words. The gorgeous Irishman seemed quite pleased with himself at her laugh. "That's a new one for me."


End file.
